


Cold Feet, Warm Heart

by Lipstickcat



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: Cuddling, Fluff, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 08:41:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lipstickcat/pseuds/Lipstickcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Murphy gets cold at night and needs his brother to warm him up. </p><p>Can either be read as a fluffy, innocent brotherly fic, or through slash goggles if it pleases ;D</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Feet, Warm Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Old fic I wrote 2 years ago.

The way Murphy tells it, they have a whole window missing and the snow comes in like a blizzard every night to settle over his bed, and only his bed. Poor, neglected soul that he is. 

The truth is that one of the panes of glass got broken one night while they were drinking. It's possible that an ashtray went through it, but they never did find the offending item in the alley below, and neither will admit to throwing the thing. They taped the hole up with plastic sheeting and duct tape, but somehow a breeze still gets in and on windy days it blows in and out like the room grew a set of lungs, making an annoying hollow thumping noise.

To be fair, it is drafty, but Connor gets the same draft, even if Murphy sleeps closer to that window. All you have to do is pull the sheets up tight and hunker down. Men slept in fucken caves once upon a time for Chris'sakes! 

Winter had barely started when Murphy started his bitching. Connor got used to drifting off to sleep to the sound of the prissy ejit whining like a damn dog. And then not long after that he started to wake up to find that Murphy had climbed into bed with him in the night. 

Fifteen years since they last shared a bed on a regular basis and suddenly they were doing it all over again. 

Sometimes it was Murphy's unnaturally cold feet that woke Connor. Fucken blocks of ice shoved between his thighs, or somehow against his back, or just brushing his feet and making them cold as well. If not that, then the way the lumpy mattress started to shake like it was one of those fancy vibrating things you get in cheap motels. Connor couldn't believe that his twin could ever really get that cold, but he did, and he'd tremble and bury himself against his brother, pulling the sheets tight around them both until his shivering eventually eased off enough for them both to fall asleep. 

Occasionally, Connor would wake having slept the whole night through without being disturbed, surprised to find a weight against his chest. His brother pressed against his side; arm sung over his waist, head pillowed on his shoulder. Sometimes, Murphy's other arm would be curled over Connor's head, fingers tangled up in his hair. Connor would always get up and complain about the wet pool of drool on his chest, and Murphy would counter that they needed to buy a fucken space heater then. 

Connor resisted for a long time. Heaters cost money and would use electricity. It was nearly spring now. But still Murphy was cold and every night without fail he'd climb in with Connor eventually. 

Connor bought Murphy thermal socks for his cold feet, and Murphy did at least try to keep them on the whole night without toeing them off in restlessness and frustration. It didn’t really solve the problem though, and after nearly choking on them during a particularly spectacular fight, Connor threw them over the fire escape and into a puddle below.

They bought the little electric heater together. That was a grim, sober week with no spare money to drink, barely enough to smoke. 

It worked though. After getting used to coming home to a room no warmer than the air outside, it was good to get back and sit close to it, warming up too as it heated the room. Even Connor found he appreciated not having to wear so many layers indoors, that he could concentrate on reading instead of constantly being aware of just how cold he was. 

And Murphy stopped getting into his bed at night. They put the heater nearest his precious, delicate soul’s bed, and it actually worked. 

… Connor’s bed felt too big now. Empty. Not cold, but, lacking in warmth. When before he would sleep pinned to the mattress by his brother’s body draped over him, now he was tossing and turning, unable to find peace. The air was too quiet, too still. There was no heavy breathing in his ear, nor damp breath against his neck. He had to stick his feet out from under the covers because they got too hot and sticky with nothing cool against them. 

Shortly after getting the heater, Murphy began to wake up in the night to find Connor in his bed, trying to slide his arm under him and get comfy with Murphy lying over him. 

They didn’t discuss it, they didn’t bitch or fight about it any more. Eventually they just started to get into the same bed to begin with. Sometimes they needed the heater, sometimes they didn’t, but this way they both slept right through until morning.


End file.
